


The 98th

by bipurplehogwartsdemigod



Series: The 98th [1]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 10:42:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21336934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bipurplehogwartsdemigod/pseuds/bipurplehogwartsdemigod
Summary: They are districts 1, 3 , and 8.Each of them has a mysterious ability.Coincidence? I think not.They must learn to use their abilities properly, and work as a team to live.It all starts on reaping day...
Series: The 98th [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538152
Kudos: 1





	1. Alessandra Willow - District 3

All over Panem, three words are to be whispered today: “Happy Hunger Games.” The thing is, the Hunger Games aren’t supposed to exist. Years ago, Katniss Everdeen had put a stop to it. But, they have started again, starting from the 77th, all the way to now. The 12 districts’ nightmares had come true again. Well, especially mine.  


The Capitol, now with a new president who had overthrown President Paylor, had turned the nation of Panem into the same form it was years ago. I live in a beat-down house made of mud and chipped bricks with my family. They, as most of my district is, asleep. It is only dawn right now, and I’d slept soundlessly on a dirty mat that was laid out on the dirt floor until a nightmare woke me up. My mother and older brother sleep on the same mat as I do. My two other siblings, a younger sister (too young for the reaping) and an older brother (who is too old for reaping), are sleeping together on another mat. There is another mat where my father slept. There would have been another occupant on that mat, but she died in the 96th Hunger Games, two years ago.  


She had died during the damn Cornucopia bloodbath. The District 4 male had beheaded her. It was terrible to watch. My mother had screamed, and I had burst into sobs. I was the closest to my sister. I hoped, with the little light I had, that she would survive, or at least be one of the last. But she didn’t, or rather, wasn’t.  


My sister was very much like me. That’s why I had basically given up on life when she died. As for appearance, we both had violet eyes with gold flecks in them. We are the only ones, in perhaps all of Panem, who have that eye color. It is very peculiar.  


My sister has always been very protective of me. When we visited the butcher together so that we could get some meat, there was a crazy dog there. It was chained up but very vicious. It snapped at me and jumped. With its teeth, it caught the end of my shirt. I screamed, for the canine was ripping it to shreds. My sister, thinking fast, grabbed a metal club and hit the dog over the head with it. The dog fell to the ground.  


I did not know my sister was even capable of such strength. She could hardly lift a wooden table. But she wielded a solid metal club to save me. I could not express how thankful I was.  


When they gave my older sister’s body back in a simple coffin, I couldn’t bear to see her in such a state. But I knew that she was safe, happy and watching over me always, just as she would protect me when she was alive. We buried her in the cemetery and my family never visited it again.  


But I do. Almost every day, to be exact. I would sneak out after curfew and carefully walk to the cemetery, where I would kneel at her grave and talk. Quietly, of course, but I would pour my love and thoughts to her, and believed she had heard. I’m not religious, but it’s comforting in these times of peril.  


Our house isn’t even the worst of District 3. They have always been like that, even before Katniss Everdeen. District 3 was the first to stand up to the Capitol and start the first rebellion. So, of course, punishment was harsh on us, even all these years later.  


I admire Katniss. I wish I could see her in person. Sure, I have seen her picture on television and I’ve also heard her name spoken lots of times, but I’d like to meet her in the flesh.  


Three years ago, I first put my name in the reaping ball. And I’ve done it ever since, and I always will—at least until I turn 18. I’m now fifteen, and along with the four that I have to put in because of my age, I also have to put my name five extra times so that we could get a share of tesserae, a supply of grain and oil that feeds us. Same for my brother. Though next year it’ll only be me.  


We are the ones that they can all depend on because we’re the only children in our family eligible for the reaping. We can give our names once to the Capitol for tessera each year. That way, our family could have enough grain and oil for a year to feed us. But that’s only for one person, so we end up giving our names three times a year. And besides, the name entering for tessera is cumulative. If I get tesserae three times a year, I put my name in three extra times next year too, as well as the tesserae for that year and original reaping slips.  


So, our names get entered a lot since we must feed our entire, large family. And everyone is counting on Milo and I.  


What can I say? The reaping’s the reaping, and if I get chosen, then I can die fighting to win, and at least give it a shot. Mind you, I’m not excited about this at all, but at least I would die trying.  


Well, maybe I will have more chances to survive than others. Because I have a secret that only I, Alessandra Willow, knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This isn't actually My story, but my friend that doesn't want to post it herself. The chapters aren't currently the longest, since this is originally from a google doc. Thanks for reading!


	2. Gryffin Fortier

Let me just get this straight. I sincerely hope that I won’t get picked, even though I have trained my whole life for it (and am really good too). My heart just isn’t in it. I know I could win the whole thing, but I just… I couldn’t, really. I don’t want to kill anyone, which makes me a target for teasing by the more brutal ones in my district.

The kids in the poorer districts… they have to put their names in for tesserae, for food, for their families… they have to put their names in multiple times. I only have to enter twice, since I’m thirteen. There’s no chance for me to get picked, and even if there is, only a tiny one. I assure myself. But I still have a bad feeling in my stomach, and my headache isn’t helping either. 

“Gryffin!” my mother yells from downstairs. “Aren’t you supposed to be at training?” Shit. I AM supposed to be at training. Right. I bolt out of bed and throw on a jacket, and scramble out of the front door. “Bye!” 

“Gryffin Fortier, I’m not going to be around forever!” 

I grin and yelled back, “But you don’t have to be!” My mother blows a kiss from the doorway. I flash a smile as my shoes gather dirt from the ground. “See you later!” 

A minute later, I show up at training, not even having broken a sweat. I scan the people in the room, who are all standing around a boxing ring-like thing that has a mat and ropes that would keep the fighters from tumbling out. I look different from everyone. While most people from District 1 have pale blue eyes and neat curls of golden hair, I stand out with windswept dirty blonde hair, and hazel eyes with a faraway look in them. The problem with dirty blonde is that District 1 despises anything out of place. My hair looks like I had a beautiful head of gold locks and then I decided to roll in some dirt. My mother has offered countless times for me to dye it in platinum blonde like the rest of my district, and so that I’d fit in. But personally, I like it. It’s different. Everything, apparently, needs to be perfect, since we make luxury items and have the best relationship with the Capitol. Jayce. Cool. Satin. Cool. Paris. Eh. Midas… damn it. Flint. Crap. I didn’t find many friends in the group after that. Unfortunately, all of them were part of Midas’s gang. Flint is Midas’s friend, and he is also more buff and stuff than him. I hate him. 

“Today you will be dueling. Not with knives or swords, but with fists,” says the woman who trains us all. “Gryffin and Flint, you’re up first. Remember what was taught.” I squeeze my eyes shut with as much force as possible, scrunch up my face, and then take a deep breath. Out of all the people that Coach could pick, she picks Flint? That is just wrong. 

Flint groans out loud and looks over at Midas. Midas’s eyes are gleaming. 

Oh, wonderful. I grit my teeth. Midas is looking forward to me getting squashed flat as a pancake by his henchman. I knew I should have slept in this morning! 

“Come on, you two! We’re not going to be here all day! I need you all to get ready one last time just in case you get reaped!” Coach barks. 

I step over the rope and into the ring. I feel like I’m one-on-one against another tribute, a buffer one. Both of our weapons are gone; we have been disarmed by each other. I can only use fists and wit. 

Flint is lazy and slow, and not very smart, either. But, he is also very strong and may knock me out in a few fists. I am not getting knocked out today during training. No way. 

He starts by teasing me with names, such as (but not limited to) bitchass, punk, weak little crybaby... you get the idea. I punch him in the jaw, which is thankfully his weak spot, and he falls onto the mat onto his back in shock. I slam my foot on his chest to keep him from stand up, but I’m straining since he has a ton of muscle. 

“Who’s weak now?” I taunt. 

Apparently, Flint HATES being teased, because he roars like a freaking lion, grabs my foot and flings me into the rope barrier. Midas and his gang laugh like hyenas. 

“C’mon, Flint!” Midas yells. 

My back hurts and so does my foot. I knit my brows and quickly stand up, but my foot isn’t helping. I can’t help but limp as I drag myself over to him and try to punch him in the face, but he blocks it, and punches me instead in the thigh. I crumple to the floor and stay there. 

Flint is laughing, and so is his gang. This is my chance! 

I kick, as hard as I possibly can, at Flint’s legs. He topples over like a domino and hits the mat, his laughs ending abruptly. I give him a few good kicks and punches until Coach tells me to stop. My nose is bleeding from when he fought back, but he is bruised and bleeding much more than me. 

She tells us to go clean up together, but Flint is looking absolutely murderous and I decide to go after training. The reaping is in an hour, so training is not as long as it usually is. When it’s over, Jayce walks home with me, blood leaking through his bandage from his duel with Midas. 

“God, he is so fierce!” Jayce exclaims weakly. “If I get reaped, I may look like a weakling, beaten to a pulp before the Games had even started.” 

I laugh, but my stomach is churning. I cannot get reaped today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) <333


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